Tales grow in the telling and heroes grow in stature, even the tiniest can stand tall among their own.
Descended from humanity, the orcs of Kuramen are a far cry from the bloodthirsty savages of many other worlds.
The players; survivors of an elite squad of mercenaries, are assigned to an assassination mission. Their task; to penetrate enemy lines during night, enter the fortified Holzberg Monastery where Sagranz has his command, and kill the elderly Hexenjaeger in his sleep.
If only it was so easy...
Fiery doom in two handy barrels. Unsurpassed destructive power. Comes with a five shot warranty.
More annoying than fairy fire ever was. And much more deadly.
In the dank,dense areas of the world where the vigorous and the decaying are intertwined and indivisable, lives the wise bagabond. But getting him to impart his knowledge is quite a chore.
Fanaticism can be just as dangerous as fire. Spreading like fire, it could spark rebellion and could lead towards violence. As a way to curb devotion to the abstract, king Hareth of Garilroot asked his Mages to come up with a solution for those too invested in an ideal.
Existing at once in the mortal plane and upon the plane of Fire, the Grand Pyre of the Phoenix is the ultimate testament to the power of the Lord Zevarith.
"See that one, with the burn scars and dark veins? Don't stick too close; he shoots fireblood before engagements. Keeps friends and foes alike at bay, it does."
"Kobolds have an empire? Since when?"
Don't run blindly for the silver vein or you will never see that what you seek is pain.
Crazy old woman, selling pieces of bone and fake charms. The fact that the villagers even tolerate the old eye-roller hag demonstrates a lack of piety to the Faith.
Ghostchasers are small nocturnal birds that have the ability to see what normal humans and most other animals cannot.
Even as humans can be, the Kel'Regar, too, can be touched by madness, and it can drive them to push to ends incomprehensible by the sane. The work of one such, Kararemi'ar'Salm'Torat, the Menangerie of Mad Creation, is a twisted, living structure, tormented by years of loneliness and incomprehensible need.
Mean ingredients bring mean effects...
Food, fun, and a mummy!
T'was a great roar, milord, and the ground was rent and the horses took their bits in their teeth and there was much confusion. No magic could reach so far, and none of our magehounds scented wizards. We do not know the deviltry of the enemy, and for this we lost the battle.
This sea monster seeks to devour more than just mere flesh..
Magik is slippery and dangerous to work with, and failure can have disastrous results. Yet the Sorcerer's continue to ply their art without the benfit of the engines and machines now widely recognized as essential to the making of magik.
Walking through the alleys of the docks district of town, you hear an old, mad beggar calling out for alms. He claims to be a god, cast out from heaven and stripped of his powers. The party passes, tossing a few coppers to him. In thanking them, the madman refers to incidents in their childhood or distant past which would have been all but impossible for him to know.